


Iridenscia 2: Electromagnetic Boogaloo

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Crack, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-War, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Utter Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6246802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before things went rotten, Froid and Rung used to have some fun, weird-ass times together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iridenscia 2: Electromagnetic Boogaloo

**Author's Note:**

> This is silly. Please pardon any icky errors; I'm a bit tired and [excuse here].
> 
> Pre-war, pre-enemies, even pre-frenemies? Before shit went down between Rung and Froid, basically.
> 
> Entirely dedicated to robo-hunter-chaim on tumblr. They know why. _They know_.

When Rung received the emergency page, he knew there was no emergency.

The code was a dead giveaway. Part of him wanted to ignore the message and resume filing data and finishing paperwork. Another part of him wanted to just go anyway. And a very sliver-thin part of Rung wanted to page back with: CAN'T COME. HOPE YOUR DEATH IS PAINLESS. I'LL MISS YOU.

Of course, in the end, Rung opted to responding to the emergency. He left his office, still a little annoyed. He knew what was waiting for him, and it wasn't anyone dying or set on fire or whatever. Rung mentally prepared himself for the obligatory Bragging Storm, as he liked to call it; not that he minded, not entirely. Froid was, after all, his friend ( _only_ friend, actually), and Rung supported him. But he had a spark, and energon ran through his circuits, so Rung was also prone to jealousy just like everyone else.

A week ago, Froid had been one of twelve selected psychologists and psychoanalysis specialists in Iacon chosen to attend conferences on the latest in mental healthcare and research, study under the more acclaimed psychotherapists and psychiatrists on the planet, as well as deliver a speech to three separate academies in two cities across Cybertron.

Rung had also applied for this tremendous opportunity. He didn't even make the list. Froid had been excited, and he had every right to be. At the same time, however, he wasn't entirely surprised--he was more confident in his skill and intelligence than Rung, and he was making quite a name for himself in the field.

Rung told himself things would change, once he finally finished his book, _The Rungian Theory_.

Either way, Rung was ready for the barrage of stories and plate-melting radiation of pride once he arrived at Froid's office. Before he could ping his friend, the doors slid open. Rung stepped back, the room very, very dark.

"Um..."

"Come inside. Or are you still dealing with your leak-springing nyctophobia?"

Rung sneered. Always teasing, that Froid. Nonetheless, Rung slowly entered the dark office. The doors shut behind him, nearly snapping closed on his useless back kibble. He stumbled forward, pale light from his optics casting two blue beams across the room.

Suddenly, the lights flickered on--only for the room to go dark a second later. 

Rung exvented, staring into Froid's hands clasped over his optics.

"Guess who?" Froid smirked from behind him.

"Really?" Rung huffed.

"Your memory's been lagging a bit lately," Froid taunted, "I'm only trying to help."

Rung reached up and pulled down Froid's hands. "What's this all about, anyway?" he asked, slowly turning. "Did you plan another obnoxious two hour slidesh--"

"Don't!"

Before Rung could fully turn around, Froid grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and forced him forward again. Rung stiffened, confused.

"Switch off your optics."

"Why?"

"Your hearing going as well, old friend?"

Rung folded his arms petulantly, but closed his optics anyway. He heard weight shuffling past him, across the room. "Why couldn't you do this when it was dark?" he asked. "Afraid you might trip on one of your gangly arms?"

"You're the clumsy one here, Rung. But, anyway, you can open your eyes now."

Rung slowly powered them back online. When he looked up, he nearly jumped back, eyes widening behind his glasses. Froid was sitting on the pull-out slab (he claimed it was for those long nights at work, but Rung knew, _very_ well, why he had the damn thing installed), posed quite sensually, and... wearing lingerie. Specifically, a corset, underwear, and belt-attached stockings (covering only his thighs and ending at his knees.)

White lingerie that sparkled and even seemed to glow.

Rung blinked. He adjusted his glasses.

Froid spread his long arms, face smug. "I would be speechless, too."

"Is that..." Rung adjusted his glasses again. He leaned forward, but kept his feet firmly in place. It was almost comical. "... Iridenscia?"

"You know your alien fabrics," Froid chuckled, "very good. But you always did have strange hobbies."

"I'm not the one wearing clothes, Daddy Long Arms," Rung countered. The only reason he knew about iridenscia, in fact, was due to a former patient who had an unhealthy obsession with alien clothing. He attended all his sessions in specially tailored full-body suits, a hat, and goggles.

Froid spread his arms out behind him. "There's a little marketplace in downtown Vos that sells all sorts of foreign goods. I found a molted, expiring Mirtonia orange. It made me think of you."

"That's not like you," Rung replied, "to think of others, that is."

"Anyway," Froid continued, "I knew you'd miss me, and probably spent all your free time thinking about me. And knowing how much free time you have, you must have short-circuited a few neuro-sensors with all that fantasizing."

Rung shrugged. "Well," he said, "there were certain parts of you I missed, true. But for the life of me, I can't think of which right now."

Froid's optics flashed. "What a vile deviant you are," he chuckled, "do you talk to your patients this way, too?"

"That's more your thing, isn't it?" Rung retorted. "Either way, you really shouldn't have. I'm not very much into clothing."

Froid bobbed his head in a nod. "True," he said, exventing, "toys are more your thing."

Rung's browplates furrowed. "They're not--" But he caught himself and relaxed, fixing his glasses. "I've seen the inside of your closet. You're very fond of toys yourself."

Froid chortled. "Well," he said, sitting forward, "don't you want to test it out?" He picked at the garter straps along his thighs. "It's said to constrict and vibrate in response to touch." He dragged his fingers up the belts. "Help me break it in, Toymaster."

"I've asked you multiple times not to call me that."

"Very sorry, Actionfiguremaster."

Rung marched up to Froid, getting right into the sitting mech's face. "You're not doing you or your erection any favors by angering me," he scowled.

Froid tilted his head. "Is it really anger you're feeling?" he asked, lightly stroking Rung's cheek. "Is it really?"

Rung snorted.

"Are you still upset I was chosen for this trip and not you?" Froid asked. He tsked, shaking his head. "Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Rung. And green would be an awfully ugly shade on you. But I guess not nearly as blinding as your vomited-Sunspring-cocktail orange--"

"Froid," Rung growled.

"Look," Froid sighed, shrugging again, "for what it's worth, I'm sure you were in the top... fifty or so. Maybe you were one of the original twelve, but they filed your paperwork wrong. Maybe under the name Rang. Or Rong. And given how it was such a prestigious opportunity, would _you_ have chosen someone by the name _Rong_ to go and represent you?"

Rung turned to leave. "I've got better, more important things to do right now, Froid. Like watch the paint on my wall peel."

"Wait! You can't go!" Froid called after him. "Not after I prepped myself and everything..."

Rung heard something slide-click open. He knew what it was, and he dare not turn around. Should not turn around. Just... keep walking. But then there was that familiar smell, one that got his spark racing and his groin actuators clenching. And if he turned around, he'd see That Face--Froid had no mouth, but he could leer like the best of seductive perverts in his own way.

No, just keep going. Just leave. There really was--

Rung turned around.

Well, nevermind. He held out two seconds longer than he did the last time. Maybe he would celebrate this fact after his walk of shame back to the office.

Of course the lingerie unzipped from the front. Froid sat back, legs splayed, showing all his glorious interface equipment. Somehow he managed not to stain the white, shimmering fabric with the lubricant dribbling from his open channel. But Rung wouldn't put it past him--when it came to dirt and filth, Froid cleaned up quite well, even when he was practically dripping in it.

Rung exvented, removing his glasses. He met That Face with his own face. Not quite as sexy, but still very serious. Froid's optics twinkled--he liked that look, just as much as Rung liked his stupid "come hither, you tiny, pathetic little man" expression. 

Froid reached out, taking Rung by a wrist and guiding him over, in between his open legs. He pulled the smaller bot down, until his lips brushed with the blue mouth apparatus. "Bite your tongue, love," he whispered, "you're much more attractive when you're good and quiet."

Rung might have slapped Froid, but instead he shoved the blue-white mech back against the wall, crawling right into his lap, and hauling up a leg. Froid laughed happily, throwing his arms around Rung, yanking him down to nuzzle.

Rung immediately realized--Froid had it the other way around. Look who had missed him so damn much, and had probably used his hand for the last week as a poor substitute.

Rung's pressurized unit brushed against Froid's abdomen, pushing against the fabric. He grabbed a fistful of the silky material, and already it was starting to react. Warming up and vibrating ever so gently. Froid moaned, and Rung looked down to see the garter belts had tightened around his hips, the edges of the underwear riding up into groin seams and grinding into sensitive circuits.

So for the next few minutes or so, Rung indulged Froid with just kisses and nips to his throat cables, fumbling and tugging at his clothes until they were tight and Froid was squirming. The vibrations had increased; Rung could feel minute tremors along his plating. His hips twitched in reaction, the tension in his unit suddenly growing a bit too hard.

Still, Rung slid a hand down the front of the corset, between Froid's legs; two fingers brushed lightly against his folds before sinking inside the channel. Froid groaned, stiffening for a second; Rung thrust his digits in past the knuckles, to the hilt. He really had prepped himself; nice, wide, and wet, and Rung was having a hard time focusing.

Rung pressed a hand down on Froid's chest, keeping him pinned to the wall; he stood back, grabbing his unit and aligning himself. Froid vented hard through his apparatus, cheekplates burning and optics glowing huskily.

With a low grunt, Rung pushed himself inside--slowly, delighting in Froid's loud moan and wiggling. He got in halfway before stopping, putting his partner on the edge. Froid whined, pawing at his chest. Unable to help himself, Rung grinned and thrust inside, hard and fast. The blue-white mech shrieked, clawing at the slab beneath him. Rung kept hold of his hips, sliding a finger beneath a belt as he paced himself, thrusts alternating between slow and shallow, quick and deep.

Froid bounced against the wall, each strike punctuated with a loud _clang_. Rung was relieved there was no room on the other side of Froid's office. He could only imagine what he'd say in the apology note for his lecherous behavior when he sent the poor fellow a fruit basket. Then Rung remembered Froid's comment on his paintjob, the Mirtonian orange, and he snapped his hips angrily; Froid yelped, throwing his head back.

The fabric continued constricting and vibrating. It almost seemed to breathe. If Rung wasn't so distracted by the obvious right now, he'd find it somewhat disconcerting. But still, it had such a pretty, mesmerizing glow. Like a dangerous predator using its beauty and good looks to attract its prey; draw the hypnotized sucker in, and devour him before he could snap out of his daze and realize what was going on.

In a way, certain parts of Froid were no different. But at least Rung would live to tell the tale. Not that he would--no one knew of their relationship, beyond that it was simply platonic, and they were good--albeit snarky--colleagues and old friends. Though Rung wondered sometimes (usually when he was overcharged) if Froid would be the death of him one day.

Mm, not very erotic, helpful material to think about during interfacing. Rung had to concentrate. It wasn't hard; a second later, Froid had swallowed him whole again, tugging him closer.

"D-Do... do..." Froid gulped dryly. "... it."

Rung knew just what "it" was. "I w-will," he whispered back, voice harsh, "but o-over the fabric."

Froid's optics widened in shock, but he did not hesitate. Not even for a moment. Rung looked down; he could see paneling shifting beneath the corset. The fan blades and plating inside his chest engines parted, exposing turbine and circuits. He invented and waited.

Rung dug his fingers into the open vents, pushing the trembling fabric down with them. By memory, he instantly found the center nodules, and started kneading them.

Froid nearly screamed, rising in an arch off the slab. He looked down at his heaving chest, Rung massaging the insides of the open engines. "Nn, Primus, o-oh Primus," he whined, hands raised and shaking. His hips picked up speed, bouncing hard on Rung's unit with the increased stimuli.

Rung bowed down, burying his face into Froid's neck. He nuzzled for a moment before taking one between his teeth, rolling it once, twice against his tongue then biting down. Froid yelped, groin smashing against Rung's, grinding down and leaving paint transfers. Light rippled down the corset and stockings, the waist band of Froid's underwear still hugging tightly around his hips.

It took a little effort, but Rung managed to squeeze a hand up beneath the tight corset, fingers slipping into the engines.

"Primus!" Froid cursed, throwing down a fist. "F-Faster!"

Rung wanted to tell him he was going as fast as he could. But instead he bit down on an energon cable and dug his fingers into the turbines to shut Froid up. It worked--well, sort of. He was still making very nice sounds, but at least he wasn't talking anymore.

"That'sitthat'sitthat'sit!"

Dammit. "Shut--shut... _up_!"

With that, Froid overloaded.

Rung removed his hand from beneath the corset, holding onto Froid as his entire frame shook from overload. With one final spasm, he went still, his fans kicking online. Rung could feel his transfluid around his sheathed unit, the fluttering claspers, and Froid was quite beautiful when he was exhausted and thoroughly f--

Froid shoved Rung back, knocking him onto the ground. He hit the floor with a surprised grunt, glasses falling from a spare compartment. Froid sat forward, glaring at the orange bot; Rung watched, wide-eyed and baffled, as the flier unhooked the belt from one stocking, quickly removing it. Once it was off, Froid stood and dove down like a vast, predatory bird on top of Rung, straddling his hips and holding him in place.

"Fr--?"

Froid wrapped the stocking around Rung's unit, held it tight, and started stroking. Rung gasped, flopping back. Immediately the fabric started clenching and vibrating, and coupled with the hard and heavy strokes... It didn't take very long before Rung reached his own overload, and it had been... quite amazing.

Rung's back went rigid as he climaxed, transfluid quickly turning the shimmering white stocking a dark purple.

A minute later, Rung collapsed, completely spent.

Froid adjusted his mouth apparatus. "I'd like to see one of your model ships do _that_ ," he sneered, unraveling the wet stocking. Then, he stopped, going completely still.

Rung could hear the wicked cogs turning in his head. "No," he growled, "a-absolutely not."

"Well, I mean," Froid huffed, "your model of the _Sceptrum_ is a reasonable size. It'd fit just--"

"No!"


End file.
